


Oh, Maggie (I wish I have never seen your face)

by SebastianDragon



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: F/M, Gunplay, Maggie gets her sweet revenge, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, handjobs, kinda d/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebastianDragon/pseuds/SebastianDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maggie has waited long enough to get some joy of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Maggie (I wish I have never seen your face)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from the song "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart.
> 
> This is my first English-written smut and you are welcome to show me all of my mistakes, for which I'm already sorry.

John Pope turns rapidly at the sound of someone’s footsteps. When he is half-facing the doorway his mind catches up with his instincts and registers the sound as Maggie’s footsteps.

“Tis you again?” he grumbles before even looking at her.

Maggie closes the door behind her and gives a dry chuckle, raising her brows that indicates she is clearly not amused.

“Again, Pope? Is that how you put it?”

John prefers to answer nothing turning instead back to his wires.

If she wants something, she might as well start right away, cause he knows she isn’t leaving without telling him the reason of her visit and there is no need in stupid ‘warm-up’s between them.

“Alright… I brought you a bottle of some fine olive oil for which you asked nicely a time ago”. She shifts, John can hear that, and pretends that she is to leave. “If you don’t want it, though…”

He knows exactly how long to wait and when to silently creep right behind her.

“Who said I don’t want it?” he purrs right into her ear.

There it is: Maggie jumps, clearly freaking out internally, then turns angrily with her eyes burning with cold fury.

Right now, she is even more beautiful than always.

How many times has he played such a trick on her and still she can’t tell when he is sneaking up on her.

Pope smirks.

“Feeling out of shape, huh?”

At that, she snaps. Her eyes flash with sudden hatred and the next moment he knows Maggie is grabbing the front of his shirt and turning him around with surprising force, slamming him against the door. They end up pressed against each other, with Maggie looking up at him with that cold glare which promises explicitly painful death to the target of this stare.

Well, maybe to every target except for him.

The fingers of her left hand are entangled in the front of his shirt, the other hand though... The other is out of his line of vision for a mere second, and when it returns - it returns with a cold touch of metal against the side of his neck.

He does nothing but grin widely.

“What, Maggie May, you’re trying to show off now, huh? Like you’re some kinda badass-girl with a Colt Model 773, that makes you...”

“Shut up, Pope”. Maggie says quietly with her lips sliding into a devilish grin in return, and then she slowly brings her mouth to his ear.

"Don't you dare say anything like that to me again", her voice now is a hoarse whisper, filled with anger and hatred and something else which Pope can't identify right now, but which suddenly goes straight down to his groin and fills it with a long missed ache.

The feeling of a gun pressed to his neck is sending alarm through his entire body, revibrating strangely in the same place Margaret's voice stirs to life.

"You think you're better?" Maggie's voice is dripping with venom as she takes a small step backwards and slowly starts dragging the gun up his neck sending a cold shiver of acknowledging the danger down his spine. "You think you're more clever and cunning than anyone in this group?"

Maggie smiles again - and it's together the most entrancing and the most menacing thing Pope has ever seen. It makes him shiver in anticipation… of what?

The gun travels even more up and stills only after its muzzle is placed under Pope's chin.

Even as John opens his mouth to say “so you finally get it”, Margaret continues:  
"Well, forget the oil, it was a lie. Finally the Great John Pope fell into a trap while thinking that he is setting a trap himself", the cold muzzle dugs sharply into his skin and John is forced to throw his head back, banging it hard against the wood.

Maggie continues smiling as she eases the pressure a bit. "I'm here to prove you that you're wrong. That you are not the best. And that you can be as powerless as everyone else".

Upon hearing this, John's cock does the absolute opposite of what his mind wants to - it twitches in anticipation and presses against his jeans it seems with a equal force to that of Margaret's gun.

The uprising arousal battles with his mind that has hit a panic button and now is repeating only “fuck, fuck, this is not good”.

For one insane second his mind wins. His mind wins and Pope throws up his hands in order to grab Maggie, wrench the gun out of her hands and do to her whatever he pleases.

Uh, he should have known better. This time Margaret is fast enough and John ends up with the gun pressed against his windpipe, cutting half of his air supply off.

"Put your hands down", Maggie hisses and when he doesn’t obey at once the gun slides down his throat and over his chest, coming to rest above his heart.

John understands perfectly that nothing – absolutely nothing – is holding Maggie from pulling the trigger.

And somehow this edge-feeling turns out to be one of the most arousal in his entire life.

Maggie is staring at him with that demanding gaze, but it is not the reason why Pope finally lets his hands fall to his sides.

"Good".

The only thing John gives a shit about now is whether it will be ‘good’ or bad for him if Maggie finds out that he isn't exactly obeying her out of fear.

So he tries to talk.

"Look, Maggie girl, do you really wanna turn this little joke of yours into something... Something?"

Margaret never answers. She just leans closer and closer until her lips brush his and the tip of her tongue licks teasingly the corner of his mouth.

John tries to capture her lips with his own, but they are already gone and the only sensations left are the door behind his back and the cold metal of Maggie's gun against his chest.

Pope smirks.  
"You can be a real bitch, you know that?"

"Yeah", she whispers and a sly smile tugs at her lips, "I know that".

Then the pressure on John's chest is suddenly relieved - only for the muzzle of the gun to shove hard right into the soft, defenseless spot under his sternum, angling upwards.

It is instinct that tells John to back away, press his back harder against the door; it's instinct that makes his muscles tighten up against the gun - but it's definitely not instinct that makes him feel more and more uncomfortable in his jeans and it’s definitely not instinct that tears that soft whimper out of his throat.

Margaret freezes against him.

Shit.

"You...", her voice now sounds confused, for which part of John's mind is genially relieved, "You like this? When the power is stripped from you and another has you under their control. Is this what you actually dream of while calling yourself 'alpha-male', Pope?"

The gun dugs even further, hot spikes of some belly-turning yet thrilling sensation spiraling from under the muzzle right towards his cock, making it burn and swell thicker than before.

John is sure that Maggie, still standing so close that she is touching him, can feel what is going on.

And by the way she smiles predatorily he knows she does.

"You know how fast a bullet travels?" she whispers, leaning closer and gently putting her free hand on his chest, so that John has to try and take under control his rapid and heavy breathing now - and scratches through his shirt with her nails.

John jerks, involuntarily bucking against the gun. Maggie smirks. "I said..."

"I know it, fuck you!" Pope breathes out.

She nods, leans even closer, her lips again an inch away from his. The muzzle is shoved harder into the pit of John's stomach, finally making him wince in pain.

"And do you have even a slightest idea of how many nerves a bullet will hit if fired at a point-blank stance into such a... sensitive place?"

John’s imagination kicks in instantly and it seems like the world ends in a nuclear explosion all around him. He lets out a torn breath and sucks air in helplessly.

Oh holy crap, no way such shit can turn him on like this. No fucking way.

For some long seconds the only sound that he can hear is the sound of his own ragged breathing. His vision is entirely black until he understands that he has squeezed his eyes shut.  
He makes himself lift his eyelids.

Maggie's free hand slips under his shirt, bringing sudden relief, cooling his hot skin, - and then wraps around the barrel, draping it in fabric.

Fuck.

His cock aches so hard in his pants - and he is either to come undone, or to collapse on the floor, because he is trembling as if it's winter and he is nude out under the snowing sky.

Maggie's hand lets go off the barrel, slips two fingers down his stomach and comes hovering over the straining bulge in his pants - not quite touching, not quite away. Pope tries to rock against it but it immediately retreats to his chest once more.

Maggie tugs the collar of his...  
"Shirt".

If John could think clearer, he would not be amused by this idea. Instead, there is a mess in his head, an erection which is hurting so much he soon won't be able to stand it any longer and a gun pressed into his chest - and so he obeys without muttering a single word, taking the shirt off with shaking hands.

If he could think clearer, he would have thought this a disgrace.

When the cold metal of the gun comes into contact with his bare skin for the first time it's instinct again which tells him to tense even more, to scream at him that this is not right, this is not what he should be wanting or doing.

Maggie traces his abs with the muzzle of the gun and the last thread of reality burns out in the fire this feeling sets his skin on.

John moans through clenched teeth, trying hard to grab something - anything - to hold on to. The doorframe behind him goes in handy.

Maggie's whisper comes as if from Heaven or Hell itself.

"I can't truly get if you even want this", it's as if these words appeared in his mind all by themselves, trembling on the edge of his consciousness.

Pope knows what he has to do - knows what he should have done long ago, yet he still can't bring himself to lay his guard completely down.

Then Maggie's hand is there, rubbing soothing patterns into his skin, stroking down his ribs lightly... And Pope finally lets go - he relaxes, obeys completely and the gun is no longer pressing in so hard that it brings him pain.

"Good". She shifts and bringing her knee between his legs she rubs against his loin.

He hisses and pushes forward.

And then through all the mist in his head John is still able to stretch his lips into a smirk and ask an uncalled question: "Is this thing even loaded?"

His voice is not sounding like his normal voice, through. It's rough, somewhat desperate and Pope himself can hear the hunger in it.

"Of course it is, beauty", Maggie slides out the magazine and shows him the absolutely real bullets, then with one smooth move jams it back.

"Then you are keeping it on safety”, Pope replies smugly.

"Maybe", Maggie nods and with the nail of her index finger traces the outline of the cross tattoo on his chest. It's a small sensation, but it makes John curse in his head.

He is still looking down at her, while she seems to be completely engulfed in what she is doing. It is only when her nail returns to the place from where it began travelling that she lifts her eyes and whispers: "Or maybe not".

The gun moves and comes to kissing his skin once more - now in the centre of the same tattoo. 

"I think this is the best mark ever", Margaret whispers.

In absolute silence she cocks the hammer.

For one extremely long second John goes numb, a cold wave of fear rolling over him.

Then he laughs.

"I mean, really? You're just gonna shoot through me into the door and then explain to Weaver why you half-undressed me before killing me. Is that how you gonna do it, Maggie May, because I seriously doubt it".

"Yeah?" She is still holding the gun in place and the look in her eyes tells that she is not going to back down. "It's not like many people are gonna miss you".

At that Pope gives her a self-confident smirk: "They are gonna miss my soup. And my bombs".

"As I said, you're not the best here".

It is no more than a whisper, but it is there. And then Maggie's lips descend upon his and she is kissing him far hungrier than she has ever did.

He follows her, swipes his tongue into her mouth. They battle for dominance and Pope loses it when the muzzle of the gun starts slowly rubbing against his chest. The metal is still cold and John's breath hitches, allowing Maggie to be the first to start and the first to end the kiss.

Pope gives her an appreciating smile:  
"Cheater".

"I had the best teacher ever", Maggie replies.

The muzzle slides down his chest, over his abs again and comes to rest an inch above his navel. It traces a small circle, sending goosebumps across his skin.

"What, don't know where to shoot me best?" Pope teases and as an answer gets a tug on his hair with Maggie's free hand.

"Of course: so many different options. Like, where I like it best, or where it'll be more agonizing for you".

Pope does his best to try and ignore the shudder these words bring him and instead gives Maggie a dry chuckle.

"Well, why wouldn't you choose already", it's really, really not that he is entirely convinced she is not going to put a bullet in his gut, but he'll be better playing along. "We certainly don't have all day".

"Oh, alright". With these words on her lips Margaret drags the gun lower and lower and...

By the moment the barrel brushes against the base of his cock, Pope isn't able to recall his own name anymore.

The fingers of Maggie’s left hand rake down his chest and stomach making him shudder again, and come to join the other at his groin. The belt is loosened in one second and then Maggie is carefully taking him in hand, flipping her thumb over the head of his dick lightly.

Heat explodes in Pope's lower abdomen and while his head is already no longer working with his mind dizzy and his vision blurring, now it's time for his knees to feel like hot wax.

John gulps hard, his mouth completely dry, and pushed out only one word:  
"M-Maggie..."

She grips him harder, nearly painfully, and then the muzzle of her gun is tracing up the underside of his shaft, swiping around the thick swollen vein - John pushes forward in a desperate need to get more of this, more contact, more cold, more danger, but Maggie's left hand lets off of him and comes to press against his chest cutting off any further movements.

Pope lets out a broken whimper and falls back against the door, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping.

It is not his brightest hour of triumph, it must instead feel like the most humiliating time in his entire life, and yet he would have given anything for this to never end at all and he would have given anything for this to stop.

When the gun comes to kiss the top, John takes in a sharp breath and without opening his eyes pushes forward again.

But Maggie is still fast enough. She switches hands and with her left one armed now she is about to rise her weapon, when John finally lifts his eyelids again and at last fights her.

He grabs the gun and wrenches it in the direction Maggie's thumb, knowing that a proper twist from him and this torture will be over. Knowing that this will be the end of it.

What he doesn't know and hasn't even thought about is that Maggie may try to resist in a less... brutal way.

One nail dragged along his cock and circled around the head is enough to shatter John's resistance into tiny shards of glass - of molten from need glass - and to let Maggie free herself and dug the barrel under his sternum once more with such force that it makes Pope curl into it and cough from the nauseous feeling it gave him.

"So... What's it like, Pope?" Maggie circles the base of his cock with the same nail, then goes to rub lightly against his sack. “What it’s like not to feel the strong one surrounded by weak?”

For the first time in his adult life Pope feels like he is about to cry.

"Maggie", he exhales again and her answer comes in as if through a deep mist all around him.

"Ask". Her hand cups his balls and starts gently massaging them.

The heat becomes unbearable and all Pope can do right now is let out a broken half-sob.

"Ask, John".

His throat constructs as he struggles to force out one word - one word he has never truly used.

"P-please".

Her tone becomes as cold as it was in the beginning of their "conversation".

"Louder".

His gaze meets with hers and then suddenly anger boils up inside of him, for a mere second engulfing his want.

"Fuck you, Maggie".

The gun dugs deeper as a silent response, tearing a groan out of his throat.

"I said: 'louder'!"

Pope keeps silent, his eyes fixed on her, not willing to give up a second time.

So Maggie tightens her grip around him and slowly starts moving her hand up and down his cock - so slowly, that it makes it agonizing instead of relieving. His dick feels like it's about to burst, and pre-come is leaking out of him, coating Maggie's hand in some kind of lube.

"You only need to ask nicely, John, that’s all".

She squeezes him, and it's enough for white-hot lick of pleasure mixed with pain to explode in his groin and snap Pope completely.

"Fuck..! Please. Please, Maggie, please -"

He doesn't have to ask twice, as Margaret is already increasing speed and putting less and less pressure on the gun every moment, so that it allows him to thrust into her hand.

He doesn't last long like this, exhausted already before climax.

Surely Maggie feels him nearing the edge, feels when his balls draw nearer to his body... And when he comes hard, perhaps harder than ever in his whole lifetime, when he is still only halfway through his orgasm - she pulls the trigger.

Pope's mind proves not to be strong enough for this. The last he knows is a cold wave of fear travelling through his boiling blood and for a moment it clears his vision enough to see Maggie's self-satisfied smirk and her bright eyes burning into his.

Then it all goes pitch-black.

***

Pope blinks, then uses his hand to shield his eyes from the raw light which makes them hurt as if someone was cutting through them.

It takes three seconds to realize - two - one –

Oh fuck.

John jerks, his brain barely registrating his sitting-on-the-floor position and glances down at himself fully expecting to see a wound and streaks of blood gushing out of him.

Except, there is none.

His trousers are still half off, his cock is covered in dried come and his shirt is nowhere to be seen - but he is alive and in one piece, and taking that in makes what has happened one of the most fantastic fucks he has ever had.

Pope exhales and goes limp against the wall he is leaning with his back onto.

Fuck, they need to repeat it sometime.

Speaking of Maggie, she is not here, of course, and Pope finally gets that he is sitting on the floor in a way for a person like Maggie to be able to open the door a little and slip out.

What _is_ left from her though and what together with his mind is proving right now that the events of some time earlier are not his vivid imagination is a Colt Model 773 lying on the floor besides him.

John spits in his hand lazily, does his best to clean up, then pulls his trousers on and finally gets up.

The shirt is still nowhere to be seen.

Whatever, he'll say he ruined it while making the bomb. Or he'll say...

Doesn't matter.

The only thing that matters now is...

Oh, Maggie May, you're gonna pay for this.

For all of this.

In the sweetest and most satisfying way.

Pope picks up the gun. The steel is reflecting the lamps' light and he can still feel the danger spreading from it.

He checks it - just in case.

As he has supposed, it's empty.

But the more important thing, one tiny detail is what catches his eye:

"Safety on".

John grins and tucks the gun into the back of his waistband.

He’ll see it safely returned to its mistress himself right after he finishes this bomb.


End file.
